Marcus "Mack" Alexander sat in his office, staring at the file in front of him. A routine investigation had taken a darker turn. What had started as a missing person case in Bay St. Louis had spiraled into something far more dangerous. Gun runners from Chicago were operating in the area, and now, Mack had to find out who was behind the illegal arms trade before things got worse.
He tapped his fingers on the table, trying to make sense of it all. The missing person? A local mechanic named Jace Turner. He'd been tied to a string of unregistered firearms, all connected to an underground network of gun runners. But there was no clear trail. No one in Bay St. Louis was willing to talk. The authorities were in the dark, and Mack knew he couldn’t handle this alone.
That’s when he made the call.
His sister, Tasha Alexander, had always been the smarter one—sharp as a tack and a criminal defense attorney with a reputation that stretched across Mississippi. When Mack needed legal expertise or someone who could think two steps ahead, Tasha was the first person he turned to.
He dialed her number.
"Mack?" Tasha’s voice was unmistakable—strong, no-nonsense. "What’s going on? I thought you were done with Bay St. Louis."
"I wish I was," Mack replied. "I need you to come down here. It’s bad, Tasha. We’ve got gun runners from Chicago moving heavy artillery through Bay St. Louis. I can’t crack this on my own."
There was a pause on the other end. "Gun runners? Chicago?" Tasha’s voice dropped a notch, serious as ever. "Alright, I’ll grab a flight this afternoon. I’ll meet you at the station tomorrow."
Mack hung up the phone, relief settling in. He wasn’t alone in this fight.
---
The next day, Tasha arrived in Bay St. Louis with a sharp, purposeful demeanor. She had a black leather bag slung over her shoulder, and her eyes scanned the room as soon as she walked into the local sheriff’s station.
"Mack," she greeted him with a quick nod. "What’s the latest?"
Mack stood up from his desk and handed her the file. "Jace Turner. He’s the key. He’s been moving weapons for a group from Chicago, but no one knows how or why. I’ve got a lead on a warehouse on the outskirts of town. But I need someone who can get through to the local contacts. They’re scared, and no one will talk."
Tasha took the file and skimmed through it, her brow furrowing as she read. "Sounds like a real mess. Let me see if I can get some names from the local defense lawyers. If there’s one thing I know, it’s how to get people to talk when they’re worried about the law."
The two set off to the warehouse that afternoon, the air hot and thick with humidity. The small town of Bay St. Louis had always been quiet, but there was a sense of unease in the air today. As they neared the warehouse, Mack could feel the weight of the case pressing on him. This wasn’t just about a missing mechanic anymore. It was about a network of criminals that could reach far beyond the Gulf Coast.
They parked their car a few blocks away and walked the rest of the way. As they approached the warehouse, Tasha pulled her phone from her pocket and dialed a number. "I’m going to try to get some information from a few people on the inside," she said, her voice steady. "Keep an eye out."
Mack nodded, his eyes scanning the perimeter of the building. The warehouse was an old, run-down structure, hidden behind a line of trees. It was perfect for something illegal. He’d been through too many abandoned places like this in his career to know exactly how they worked: dark, quiet, and filled with danger.
Tasha’s conversation ended, and she slipped her phone back into her pocket. "I’ve got a name. Someone who used to work with Turner. Says he’s been dealing with a middleman who goes by the name ‘Chicago Mike.’ Not creative, but it’s a start."
"Chicago Mike," Mack repeated. "I’ve heard that name before. He’s been on the radar for a while."
They approached the warehouse cautiously, Mack’s hand instinctively resting on the sidearm at his waist. He motioned for Tasha to stay low as they approached the back entrance.
Inside, the warehouse was dark, with only a few dim overhead lights flickering. The sound of muffled voices and the scrape of metal against concrete echoed through the space. Mack could make out silhouettes moving in the shadows, unloading boxes from a delivery truck. The unmistakable shape of rifles and handguns peeked out from beneath tarps.
"This is it," Mack whispered. "We’ve got to move fast."
Tasha nodded, her expression tense. "I’ll keep an eye on the entrance. You find the evidence."
Mack moved through the shadows, his footsteps silent on the concrete floor. He approached one of the crates, carefully lifting the tarp. The weapons were top-tier, more than enough to cause serious damage. There was no doubt in Mack’s mind that these weapons were being funneled through Bay St. Louis and eventually into more dangerous hands. But the question was: who was pulling the strings?
As he examined the crates, he heard a noise behind him—a low, guttural voice. "What are you doing here?"
Mack spun around, his hand already on the gun at his side. A man in a leather jacket stepped forward, a large tattoo of a snake coiling around his arm.
"You’re a long way from home, friend," the man sneered. "This is our business. Get lost."
Mack didn’t flinch. "I don’t think you want to do this," he said, his voice cold. "You’re in way over your head. I’m here to shut this down."
The man smirked. "I don’t think you understand how this works. You’re not leaving here alive."
Before Mack could react, the man lunged at him, but Mack was faster. In a flash, he had the man pinned to the ground, his knee on his chest and his gun pointed at his face.
"Now, let’s try this again," Mack said, his voice calm but deadly. "Where is ‘Chicago Mike’?"
The man hesitated, sweat beading on his forehead. He was terrified. "He’s not here. But his men are. They’ll be here any minute."
Mack didn’t waste any time. He signaled to Tasha, who was already moving toward the front of the warehouse. The moment she saw the signal, she pulled out her phone and dialed the local authorities.
The cavalry was coming.
The gunfight that followed was brief but intense. With the police arriving just in time, Mack and Tasha managed to apprehend the remaining men. They found the weapons stash, enough evidence to tie the gun runners to multiple illegal transactions.
As the authorities rounded up the criminals, Mack stood beside Tasha, the weight of the case starting to lift.
"Well, that was fun," Tasha said with a smirk, wiping a speck of dirt from her jacket. "Think the local police will be able to handle this one?"
Mack nodded. "They’re gonna have their hands full. But we did our part."
"Always do," she replied.
They shared a moment of quiet satisfaction before heading back to their car. As they drove off into the setting sun, Mack couldn’t help but feel grateful for his sister’s help. Some cases were too big to handle alone.
And some things were just better when family was by your side.
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